Dirty Little Secrets
by Number VIII - Axel
Summary: Things are not as they seem in the Factory. Slighly AU. Very DARK. 18 only, please.
1. Chapter 1

Dirty Little Secrets

Pairing: WW/Older!CB (If you can call it that...)

YOU MUST BE 18 YRS OR OLDER TO READ THIS.

Warning: This fiction contains dark themes including **hints of** slash, blood drinking, cutting, insanity, non-consensual sex, bondage and the like. If you are offended by these things, don't read. (Duh.) If you enjoy these themes, by all means, carry on.

DISCLAIMER: Willy Wonka and his amazing chocolate factory don't belong to me. They belong to Roald Dahl and Warner Bros. I've made absolutely NO profit from this apart from satiating my dark side…

I will admit that this fiction contains slight alterations from the original plot of the 2005 movie, and these deviations are completely intentional. Call it alternate universe if you like.

* * *

From the start I knew I was different. I liked things that the other kids didn't like and I was interested in things that would have made my mother cringe if she knew I liked them. I was able to mask these strange cravings of mine and pass it off as a safe, healthy obsession with something else. Something harmless, like chocolate. They never thought that it could be anything else. 

At fifteen years old, I had perfected my angelic act. No one would guess that I, mild-mannered as I was, would ever relish in deadly thoughts, forcing scarlet droplets of blood to pour out of the translucent skin of my wrists as I watched it swirl away from me. That drain was like an alter upon which I would sacrifice daily to remind myself of the pain – the only thing I had that I could control in this recklessly spinning experience known as life.

Life was nothing but an uphill struggle for me, never what it seemed to be. I pretended to be happy for others, so they wouldn't find out of my habits. I hid it perfectly, they had no idea. They figured I was just shuffling through life, somehow managing to maintain a shred of existence from nothing but cabbage stew. Not even the pain of hunger was in my control… Everything was in a mad spin cycle and I managed to make them think I was naught but a happy boy despite my circumstances.

Then things started falling into place. My obsessions began to intermingle. I had lied to everyone so long about the chocolate that I eventually began to believe it myself. I couldn't help but think about mixing it with my morbid thoughts of death. I even made that stupid factory out of toothpaste caps that father brought home. I remember the announcement, and winning the ticket. It was a roller coaster of emotions for me, something good seeming so distant to me after a long barrage of bad news.

The thing that sent me careening from the cliffs of sanity, however, was meeting _him_. He was the impetus that threw me for a loop as I experienced my first real carnal desires. The way his lips curled into that smirk when someone got their just desserts while on the tour, the way his hair bounced in time to his stride, and above all, the murderous intent hidden in the most amazing lilac eyes I had ever seen, they all awakened a monster that had long been sleeping within me.

My warped affections for the man known as Willy Wonka grew as time went by. Naturally, I knew his game as soon as I entered that asylum disguised as a confectionary dreamland. Each room we entered was based on a weakness of one of the other children. They would inevitably fall for their designated traps and slowly, one by one, disappear. Couldn't they see the pattern here? Then the parents would be disposed of, led off to the depths of the factory by one of those little trolls.

I knew he had carefully planned for me to win. My angelic act must have worked on him too, because he said to my family that I was the "least rotten," a statement which I knew was an utter lie in my reality. I ended up winning the factory and was invited to live within its cement walls. Of course I took the opportunity. No need to bring the family with me, let them live on happily without me.

When I moved in, I found out that I hadn't fooled the reclusive candy man at all. I'm sure that his seeing my miniature toothpaste cap factory hadn't helped suspicions of my questionable sanity. He seemed, at first, to find this intriguing. I began to get more mutated desires as time went on. Living in such close proximity to the object of my wanting was no easy feat as I waited for the perfect timing. He had told my family that I was to become the heir to his empire, which I soon discovered to be a lie. Why would a man who had discovered a way to reverse the effects of aging need an heir anyhow? I began to wonder how old he really was.

One day I managed to find the tonic that he said could age you with a single drop. Curiosity got the better of me and I tried a small drop of the oily substance. It was like pressing the fast forward button on a video cassette recorder and I was suddenly about twenty-seven years old. Of course he found out and he tried to chastise me for my nosiness, but I was now taller than he. I pushed him against the wall, crushing my lips against his.

I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and he emitted a small yelp of pain as I tasted the coppery tang that wound me up further. He was begging me to stop what I was doing, _begging_. I relished the feeling of control, something I usually only achieved when I was in the shower watching the crimson trails trickle away into the drain. It gave me a heady rush, to be in control of a person other than myself. I realized that I could even control whether he lived or died and that it was up to me what happened next.

He must have recognized this too, as he was pleading with me to cease and desist. I smiled at him in what must have been an evil way and I knew that the suicidal glint was showing in my hazel eyes because I could distinctly see the fear in his amethyst ones. I threw him onto the floor, hard. His head made a disturbingly nice cracking sound as it hit the hard floor and he screeched in pain. His screams drove me closer to the edge, making me want to do things I'd never done and feel things I'd never felt. Another smile crept onto my features and I straddled the gasping chocolatier on the floor.

He was screaming at me now, telling to stop this instant. I leaned down and whispered to him that there was nothing he could do to stop me, and I knew it. It silenced him in a rather satisfying way. I could feel him trembling beneath me and it was making me ache for something more. I pulled him up roughly, crushing his lips with mine once more. Standing, I dragged him off to the rooms assigned to me. He struggled most of the way, but admitted defeat when I tightened my grip on his wrist and managed to pop something out of place. The wet sound of bone moving like that made me smile and the monster within me was fully awake.

I gave him a cold stare and shoved him into the room. Among my childhood trinkets I found a pair of handcuffs that I affixed to his gloved hands, threading the chain through the posts of my headboard. He was submissively silent, as though having accepted his fate. This would not do, I thought. I slapped his face as hard as I could and he let out a pained sound. I began removing his boots and coat in a jerky manner, and he protested as I peeled away the black dress socks. Within a few moments, he was clad in only a pair of silken boxer shorts and his interesting violet latex gloves. His hair was tangled as he thrashed, trying to find a way to escape me.

I laughed at his vain attempts and said as much. He gave me a slight glare and it turned me on more so than I already was. I bit his neck hard, eliciting a shriek of pain from him that made the ache in my groin grow. He was gasping out of a mixture of fear and exertion as he gave up trying to escape from my torture. I soon echoed his lack of clothing and perched above him, eyeing my quarry. I felt like a hungry hyena spying a piece of meat, a guttural laugh escaping from me.

I raked my nails down his sides and his body responded, arching towards me. He called my name; his voice was growing hoarse from all the screaming he'd done earlier. I got off of him and searched my room for one of the blades that I used for the ritual that caused the numerous scars that ran across my arms. Once obtained, I returned my attentions to the terrified man on my bed. He saw the razor and looked as though he would faint. Luckily, he didn't.

I nipped his ear, running the blade across my own wrist and smearing the thick blood across his lips. He flinched at the taste, turning his face away. I pulled him back towards my wounded arm by the hair and commanded him to drink it. He complied out of fear and pain, a satisfying feeling for me. I removed my arm from his lips and forced him to watch as I traced shallow designs into his chest with the same weapon. His own blood welled up into the small cuts, his whimpering causing me to want something I wasn't quite sure of.

I ran my tongue across the wounds and reveled in the salty tang this action rewarded me with. I let instinct take control of me and threw the blade carelessly aside. I bit his lower lip again, reopening the earlier wound I had created. He let out a small squeak as my hand found its way between his legs. I suckled his bleeding lip as my hand began work at his state of arousal while he let out a shuddering moan. I watched with glee as my hands elicited the response I desired despite the man's best efforts to fight his body's reaction. He flashed me a look of contempt. I'm sorry Willy, was this different than what you were expecting? My lips curled up into a smirk, much like the one he used that I so admired.

I had complete and total control of him; there was nothing he could do to stop me. His eyes widened as I removed the last garment he wore. He began asking, begging, _pleading_ for me to stop and I slapped him across the face. I had to let him know who was in control here, and he certainly wasn't in any shape to be giving orders. In a way that reminded me of the stories my mother had told me about Satan, I laughed with delight as I noticed a tear trickling down his cheek. I returned my attentions to his still-bleeding chest and closed my lips around a taut nipple, causing him to elicit a groan. I bit him in the same place and the groan became a yell. He urged me to stop it, that it was hurting him.

A sneer crawled across my face and I let him know that he had probably never known the pain I had lived through. The pain of knowing you don't belong in your own family. I told him that this physical pain I was subjecting him to was nothing compared to the emotional scars that burdened me from a childhood spent desperately hiding the real me. This was the real me, a maniacal madman with a lust for power, sex, and candy. Something told me what I was doing wrong. The last shreds of my humanity were quickly divested, much like the boxers that had so recently clothed the man who lay before me.

He was trembling from a mixture of fear and unwanted acceptance – something that made the monster within me growl lustfully. He was still pleading for me to stop, albeit more forlornly. As though his mind accepted that the effort was futile but his heart wouldn't let him simply give up. I laughed at him, and for a moment, something changed. His eyes darkened and he stared up at me. I felt the somewhat unfamiliar pang of guilt and fear wash over me as his lips twisted into his trademark smirk. Something wasn't quite right here…

* * *

A/n I posted this in my LJ and got ok reviews. Decided to see if it's even allowed here... which, as long as I have my warning and somesuch... should be ok. If staff finds this offensive, they'll get rid of it. No biggie. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dirty Little Secrets

Pairing: WW/Older!CB

YOU MUST BE 18 OR OLDER TO READ THIS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Warning: Part 2 introduces sadist!Willy… Mm medieval torture devices… enjoy

DISCLAIMER: Willy Wonka and his amazing chocolate factory don't belong to me. They belong to Roald Dahl and Warner Bros. I've made absolutely NO profit from this apart from satiating my dark side…

I will admit that this fiction contains slight alterations from the original plot of the 2005 movie, and these deviations are completely intentional. Call it alternate universe if you like.

* * *

Charlie pressed his mouth against mine, shoving me up against the wall. My mind was reeling as the intense feeling of _revulsion_ took over me. An alarm went off in my mind and I knew I had to control myself or else things would not be going according to plan. He bit me, and I let out an involuntary yelp of pain. That was unexpected! My lip stung as he deepened the kiss and I had to fight a wave of nausea, though something inside me wondered why this li'l boy would actually find something that gross to be enjoyable.

I decided that I'd play his game. I'd let him think he's won, and when he was about to reach his li'l coup de grace, I'd throw him for a loop. He'd be far too surprised to notice my plans. Or perhaps he's already caught on to them, like on the Tour. He almost called me out with that fat child. _How could the Oompa Loompas know…?_ I'll tell you how, you rotten li'l bas– My train of thought was quickly derailed as I listened to my own voice begging and pleading with him. I cringed internally at how pitiful I sounded. Me, the all-powerful Willy Wonka – _begging_!

I saw the familiar spark in his eyes that told me he had just gotten in touch with that power-hungry side of himself. I sure hope my mask of fear was reaching my eyes – couldn't have him figure me out now, could I? He smiled in a way that made me feel like I was looking in a mirror; that in itself really creeped me out. Turned out to work to my advantage, though. He seemed satisfied with my reaction. Without warning, and with a great deal more force than was strictly necessary, he threw me against the floor. Mild concussion fogged my senses for a moment and I cried out. This was not good enough - I needed my mind clear if I wasn't to fall foul of this creature's intentions.

I was screaming somewhat liberally now, it seemed to make the boy think he was in total control. Nothing better than that, the bigger the ego, and the harder he falls. I was playing him like a didgeridoo, and he didn't even know it. He smiled again, in that self-satisfied way before he sat on me. I could feel his desire – something that deeply sickened me. I wasn't technically lying when I screamed at him to stop as I had no intention of being invaded in the way I knew he was imagining.

When he whispered that there was nothing I could do to stop him, I had to keep myself in check. No use ruining my plans with a sarcastic smirk… I kept silent and trembled as I tried to suppress the sadist in me. I could hardly wait until I had him in my clutches. Did he honestly think he could get away with this? What a silly boy. Soon he'd be the one screaming and I'd be the one laughing. He dragged me to his room and I had to struggle with him to keep things convincing, but he popped my wrist out of place. Why that no-good little—he'd get his. I just had to be patient. Just a little longer…

His stare was hardly unnerving as he thrust me into his room. Please, Charlie. I've seen much scarier things than _that._ He cuffed me to his headboard and a fleeting thought ran through my mind as I wondered how on earth a boy his age managed to get his hands on something as kinky as handcuffs. More acting on my part as I struggled against them. Of course I knew there's a catch to those little boogers. Every pair of kinky handcuffs has a way to get out of them, after all. Apparently I was being too quiet. He slapped me. I've felt worse, but I let out a yelp. Might as well give him what he wanted until it was my turn. Then he started taking my clothes off. I wondered why it didn't occur to me that he'd do this and I was thrashing about to keep him off of me a little longer. I didn't exactly want to be raped. Not by a guy, at least…

He got down to my boxers and stopped. I felt slightly relieved. He laughed at me and I let myself go for just a moment, affixing him with a glare. I didn't anticipate the pain of being bitten either, and when he did so I shrieked. As I lay there, seemingly helpless and panting he removed his own clothes. Wow, my Vitawonk works wonders, even for the scrawniest of boys. He looked like he'd been to the gym a few times… I snapped out of my musings when he laughed again and clawed my sides. _Ow._ A memory surfaced, painted nails raking down my sides... But this wasn't a pleasant evening with them, this was... _Charlie! _Unbidden, his name escaped my lips. Double-crossing bastards… Repulsed by the idea that _he_ could possibly have reminded my body of that, my mind took control back from the hormones coursing through my veins.

He got off of me and I was about to free myself when he came back holding something. Oh my goodness. I was definitely not expecting this by any stretch of the imagination. He had acquired one of his razors—the ones he used to create the scars that I could see easily against the pale skin of his inner arms. I felt a pang of true fear as he came towards me with the blade—not because I was scared, but because I knew the masochistic side of me would enjoy this far too much, regardless of Charlie's being a man. I was not looking forward to his misunderstanding my reaction.

He sliced his own wrist and shoved it into my lips. Reflex took over and I flinched away from his blood. Not your blood, Charlie… I don't want it. He forced me to drink it by yanking me by the hair and again, I was reminded of an evening from several years past… The flashback was stunted as he removed his arm and began cutting into the skin of my chest. I had to struggle to bite back the moans that would have been elicited as he did this. No, this wasn't like that time… this was Charlie. I desperately tried to force the unwanted memories of _that_ experience away. Baseball, cold showers… Trust me, Charlie. You don't want my love. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into if you're delusional enough to think that. _I _don't want _your_ love, that's for damn sure.

Aside from anticipating the sounds of your screams as I… but that's neither here nor there. Not yet, anyhow. And you'll soon see what I've got in store for you, dear boy. A wave of disgust came over me when he began licking my chest. EW, didn't he realize how many bacteria were in his mouth! I watched in disgust as he threw the blade away and kissed me again, reopening the wound in my mouth. Charlie, you are _so_ asking for it.

A surprised squeak dropped from my lips as his hand touched me _there._ No, no… I don't want that from you… He was still kissing me, his hand working on my unwanted erection. I shot him a contemptuous glare and he returned it with a scarily familiar smirk. Then he went too far. He took my boxers off. I said it nicely, sternly, forcefully. I even pleaded for him so stop, despite my aversion to sounding so utterly pathetic. Charlie slapped me again. In my mind, I laughed. He thought he was showing me who was boss, didn't he? Oh, dear Charlie… you've got it all wrong.

Being the _splendiferous_ actor that I am, I managed to shed a tear—which in turn made Charlie laugh in a way that can only be described as wicked. He focused on my chest again – my nipple to be exact. I groaned slightly, another wave of nostalgia washing over me. I remembered her red painted nails… the boots that laced up to the thigh… corsets and whips… my memories were disrupted as he bit me, hard. I yelled, of course. Charlie, you have no idea what you're doing when it comes to kinky sex, _believe me._ I told him it hurt, he replied with a sneer and some drabble about me not knowing what real pain was. Pfft.

Charlie, until you've lived as long as I have, don't _presume_ to tell me that you've known more pain than I have. Too bad, though. I don't think you'll ever know that small fact. I trembled as my darker side resurfaced, trying to hold it back. This was the side that took no interest in pleasures of the flesh. The side that was always only slightly sated by the fantasies acted out in private, but which gorged on the blood of those stupid enough to cross me in the past. The side that lusted, not for sex, but for power. My erection faded. A few whimpers escaped me, but they weren't directed towards Charlie, but rather, to the manifestation of all my dark thoughts. Charlie laughed at me again, but it was quickly silenced. I stared up at him and I knew he had seen my eyes change.

Charlie, you didn't think you could get away with this scot-free, did you? Oh, _no_, dear boy… You're going to meet your maker. Just like those other li'l _bastards_. I can't let you escape now. Not after you've seen the wonders of my factory. _Especially_ not you, because the Oompa Loompa elders told me that the voices they hear are saying that one Charlie Jeremy Bucket is going to be my demise. What do you know, that's _your_ name! I smiled at him, and he stared at me. When he least expected it, I extended my leg quickly, kicking him in the groin. He screamed in pain and fell over, huddling into a fetal position. I let out a cruel bark of laughter and released the catch on the handcuffs.

Tears were streaming from his eyes as I yanked him up by the hair. How do you like it, sweet Charlie? Whatsamatta? You can dish it out, but you can't _take_ it? Oh dear, that's just _too_ bad. I smiled evilly at him and he cowered. Nice to know I still had it. I pulled him after me, not bothering to grab any clothes. It's not like anyone else would see me, and the Oompa Loompas don't care. I stalked down to the elevator with the sniveling boy in tow. I'll show you some _real_ pain, kiddo. You think you're so tough, eh? We'll see about that.

Once inside the glass enclosure, I scanned the many buttons as I pushed the one I was looking for—Lair. The elevator took off and I sneered down at Charlie. I let him know that he was in for the worst pain of his life, and that he was going to get exactly what he deserved. He stared at me with that deer-in-the-headlights expression, as if he couldn't believe I'd want revenge. Of course I wanted revenge. I now had a splitting headache thanks to his throwing me against the floor. The verbal abuse continued as I told him he was useless at being kinky as well. Even if I _was_ into guys, (which I'm not) Charlie, you still suck at sex. Major big-time.

He hunched over. Oh the angst. I rolled my eyes. Bitch, please. I kicked him in the chest and the elevator lurched to left, and then veered right. The back of his skull smacked against the tempered glass of the back wall and he gasped from the combined force of the kick to his lungs and the pain of the impact. My smile got wider. How do you like them apples? Let's see what else can make you scream… The elevator emitted a cheerful _ding!_ and I stepped off, dragging useless Charlie behind me. The Lair was a dark room with blue walls—somewhat like the entrance hall in its industrial appearance. There were large fans near the ceiling for ventilation, filling the room with cooler air and a quiet whirring noise.

Along the walls were various medieval torture devices, including (but not limited to) thumbscrews, an iron maiden, a rack, and an interrogation chair. Charlie gasped when he noticed something out of the corners of his vision. I cackled and announced that he was right. Those _were_ Augustus flavored chocolate covered Gloops. I motioned to the iron maiden and commanded him to peer inside. Reluctantly, he did so and promptly vomited on the floor. Of course, he would. It was a wonder Mrs. Gloop fit in there at all. I'll tell you what; it was a hassle getting that woman in there. She sure did squirm a lot. But I wasn't about to let her leave my factory—don't think I didn't see her stuffing truffles into her purse!

I snapped the cuffs of my latex gloves. I asked Charlie why he thought I wore gloves. His answer was somewhat better than the usual 'because you're spermatophobic(1).' He actually thought it was due to sanitation regulations inside the factory. I'd have to give him points for originality… I sneered and told him he was wrong. I wear gloves because it's much harder for the police to figure out that _I'm_ the reason random, mutilated body parts end up in the Thames. No fingerprints, dig? He gaped at me and I smiled. That's right, Charlie. I'm a murderer. I _enjoy_ causing death. Guess who's next, li'l boy… but I'd torture him some first—for shits and giggles.

I yanked him by the arm, hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. A bone pop for a bone pop. He winced, and I dragged him towards the rack. He caught a glimpse of a miniature Mike impaled on a thumbscrew. I laughed at him, and explained that he had had no idea what he was getting himself into when he attacked me today. I _was_ going to let him live a little longer, but he royally fucked up his chances of _that._ I said as much and he frowned. He asked me why I wanted him to win if I was just going to kill him like the other ticket winners. I smiled brightly.

"Why, because you're the li'l booger who's destined to bring down my candy empire." I replied. He stared at me, disbelief written all over his features.

"Why not kill me during the tour? You could have—I don't know—given me some Fizzy Lifting drinks and made me fly into one of your industrial fans(2)."

"Oh, _no_ dear boy! That wouldn't be any fun, now would it? I might have missed out on cutting you up myself." I punctuated the statement with a grin. He gaped at me. Clearly, he was still in denial about my true nature. I watched as something dawned on Charlie. He, of course, had been schooled in conservative Christian beliefs. I knew this when he asked me how I could possibly avoid disaster by killing him—if I _was_ destined to fall by his hands, wouldn't some supreme being make it so that I could not succeed by simply killing him off? Again, I laughed at his naïveté.

Charlie, did you ever stop to think that maybe, _just maybe_ there is no God? Or perhaps there is one, but he simply _doesn't care_ about you. I'd have imagined you'd come to this conclusion with your rather hopeless history. It would seem this is not the case. I began securing him to the rack while he was distracted in arguing religion with me. Perfect. Before he even realized it, he was strapped in to my personal favorite device of torture. It had, of course, the nickname of _Taffy Puller_ among me and my Oompa Loompas.

I began cranking the wheel on the rack when Charlie interrupted me _again._ I rolled my eyes and snapped at him.

"What is it _now_?" I wanted to get on with it, my internal beast roaring at this delay. Don't worry, internal beast—I'll be _extra_ cruel and unusual to him because he won't _shut up._

"You were going to do this all along…" I looked at him like he was the dullest boy I've ever met. Oh wait, he kinda was. Another eye-roll ensued, and I responded.

"Yeah, _duh._" I motioned to crank the rack again, but was again stopped. Exasperated, I turned to look at the boy. What now!

"So… why did you let me get so far…? I mean, I thought I was in control or you. Why'd you—"

"Because, Charlie, it does way more psychological damage this way. It crumbles your ego and it provided me with a window of opportunity." I flashed him a wicked grin. He gulped and continued on, relentless. I sighed. _Bad idea, not gagging this li'l jerk wad._

"Yeah, but you're going to _kill_ me, aren't you?"

"Yes, _Captain Obvious._" I sneered. "You're gonna die. Like the others—which reminds me… do you have any last words? That is, _other_ than the agonized screaming you'll be doing for, oh, I'd say until you die." I emphasized the point with vivid hand motions while he fell speechless. Yay, no more interruptions! "Guess not!" I replied in a chirpy sort of way and began cranking the rack some more. Charlie grimaced and tried to bite back the screams I knew he must be aching to emit. I laughed and told him that it would probably hurt less if he'd just scream like the little wimp he was. Of course, his pride wouldn't let him scream out until the pain was practically unbearable. Let's see how long it took me to reach that…

Within moments he was screaming at me to stop, that it hurt, and all manner of mindless screeching one does when being stretched to breaking point. I sent him an overly sugary smile and stopped my cranking. Today wasn't a stretch-them-until-their-limbs-pop-off kinda day, anyways. His chest was heaving from overexertion and his face was stained with tears. He looked at me, truly afraid for the first time in his life. I flashed a grin. Didn't think you'd be dying today, did you? Didn't think it'd hurt this much? Ah, well. I walked over to a small room where I kept some spare clothing. No need to get my immaculate skin covered in nasty child blood.

I donned a black lab coat (white's just not my color, y'see) and pulled on a pair of matching gloves. Affixing a mask to cover my mouth, I called some Oompa Loompas into the room to assist me. They marched in silently, and one brought me my scalpel set. I grinned behind my mask. This was gonna be good. I chose my sharpest scalpel and approached trembling little… well, a 15 year old with a 30-year-old's body isn't exactly little… but you get the idea. I approached him, my weapon brandished. This would be revenge for the newly forming scars on my own chest.

A sharp intake of breath accompanied my first slice. He gasped again as I made consecutive cuts across his chest. The blood welled up quickly, dark. He squirmed slightly, and I let out a shrill giggle as I began cutting little W's into his flesh. He wasn't exactly screaming, but I could tell he was in pain—an idea that made my power-hungry self smile with an evil sort of glee. He let out a small sound of surprised agony as I pushed down harder on the knife, cutting deeper, into his muscles. As I did this, I got a wonderfully evil, _wicked_ idea. I called one of my faithful servants and explained what I needed in excited whispers. He crossed his arms and bowed, leaving the Lair to find the objects I needed.

Charlie stared at me as I flashed him a secretive grin. He seemed to ask me what was going to happen next with his eyes. All in good time, Charlie. All in good time… The Oompa Loompa returned with help, of course. They brought in a large, wooden cross, several spikes, and some rope. Just like I asked… I turned my head slowly towards Charlie and smiled.

* * *

1 Spermatophobia / Spermophobia refers to an abnormal and persistent fear of germs.

2 Yes, a reference to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971).

A/n the experiment continues. Might write an ALL-NEW chapter in Charlie's POV (those of you who've read this on LJ will know that I've only completed 3 chapters; Chaz-Will-Will) just a thought. I think I will. We'll see.


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